
Dr. Mayor was enjoying a fattening breakfast with his aunt out at the local pancake shop near her house. He thoroughly enjoyed her company, but he was unable to take his eyes of a certain young girl, sitting all alone, obviously waiting for someone who never came.
But this is not his blog.
It's Sunday, I'm meeting a friend at the Original Pancake House to terrorize Bradly at work. Only, she's not coming; I can't even get through to her on her cell... she's cashed out. No bother, I'm already up early, dressed, and hungry. I leave without her.
Bradly was working quite hard, dashing here and there, never stopping for a second. I was having a hard time understanding why he enjoyed the job so much until I met J.R., the shift manager. Everyone must have known he was gay, but I don't think he did. It was obvious why
he loved
his job; his hours appeared to be spent cracking jokes with the waitresses and customers.
On Bradly's advice, I had a veggie oven-baked omelet...
scrumdilicious! I even took a picture of it so my friend would know what she was missing.
While there,
unbeknownst to me, there's a man checking me out. He obviously likes what he sees, but I never even noticed. After my meal, Bradly comes over for a brief chat, we say our good-byes, and I thought that was that.
Well, Bradly was also serving the man and the fact that we seemed to be friends did not go unnoticed. He pays his bill and leaves only to come back in a few moments later. Later, I would find out that it took him all of his courage out there in the parking lot to come back in and search me out. He motions to speak with Bradly.
"Excuse me," he said, pointing at the table where I once was, "that girl who was just in here- do you know her well?"
"Yeah, I know her really well... she's my roommate!"
Bradly tells the man I'm here for the
WSOP and, by the way, she's a
Ph.D. He's impressed and says that he thinks I'm beautiful. He gives Bradly a business card and asks that I might call him. He's a doctor, internal medicine. A heart doctor.
Exciting!
I let a few days go by before calling; the number he left was his practice, so I wasn't too worried about actually talking to him. I can't seem to get through the doctors that are already treating me, so why would this be any different?
Ring. "Hello, this is Jordan, how may I help you?"
"Hi, uh, my name is Clio and Lance wanted me to return his call?"
The man on the other end of the line seems dubious.
"He's currently with a patient, may I ask if you are currently a patient of his?"
"No," I replied, "I met him at the pancake house last Sunday."
"Clio?"
"Yes?"
"Oh, wait just a minute, I'll go get him."
Huh, how about that? He comes to the phone, obviously in a hurry. It's obvious he really was with a patient, but somehow, he must of told his crew that I had "bat phone" privileges.
He's as eager as a child on Christmas Eve; it's kinda cute, having such a powerful man behave like this! He's very happy that I called, tells me he's with a patient, and would I do him the honor of giving him my phone number?
I do, and he tells me he'll call later when things aren't so busy.
Morning turns to evening and there's a blocked call coming through on the mobile. I let it go to voicemail. It's him! He's calling to say that he's going to be working for a few more hours, but that he'll call back.
I can only presume he wants to take me out to dinner, so I
preemptively take a shower, smooth my legs, curl my hair and put on some makeup. Just about the time I'm finished, he calls back.
"Hi, what are you doing?"
I'm making it easy for him.
"I'm just thinking about what to do for dinner," comes my sing-song reply.
He takes the bait and we agree to meet at the Grand
Lux inside the
Plazzo. I put on a sun dress, some kitten heels and head out the door.
Snaking my way from Valet through the casino, I wonder what he'll look like? Would I be attracted to him? Probably not, but I wasn't going to let that get in the way of a good time! He probably has other
redeeming qualities anyway, being a doctor and all...
The
Plazzo is a small casino, but nonetheless, I can't find the
Lux. I'm in the shops between
Plazzo and Venetian and where I think it is, isn't. There but by the grace of God I go, fashionably late.
I finally find the restaurant and position myself where I can be seen. Seconds later I hear my name being called from over my shoulder. I spin around and see... a chest.
The Dr. is tall! He's not completely unfortunate looking! Now he's as eager as a child on Christmas morning!
The waitress seats us at a 2-top, but he's not happy about this arrangement. He wants to sit next to me! So, we find ourselves at a 4-top and he motions for me to sit on the booth side. He sits next to me, and after just a minute of conversation, realizes that he wants to look at me more than he wants to sit next to me, so he jumps around to the other side.
Teehee.
He asks me about me and he's impressed that I am who I am and eyes me carefully.
"What's the catch?"
"What do you mean?"
"What's wrong with you? How can you be so wonderful?"
For a moment, I flash back to the jerk from the
WSOP circuit events. But tonight was not like that. I mean, tall, strong, career-girls... he knows about me, right?
I use my hands to draw his eyes up and down my body... "Honey, what you see, is what you get."
He giggles as the waiter comes over. I order a very tasty
Shiraz (St.
Hallet) and the market fish,
mahi mahi; he gets water and, I swear this is true, a salad. No matter, the conversation is good, I can tell he's impressed that I can follow his thoughts, but I think he's starting to feel threatened, so I start acting drunk (from one glass of wine!
LOL!) and twirling my hair. Hey, I'm new at this, it's all I got.
The food comes and I was amazed. His salad was more like a garden, and my plate had a nice portion of fish plus five, 1-2-3-4-5 vegetables! Mashed sweet potatoes, broccoli, carrots, sugar snap peas, and mashed potatoes. I wonder how much "market price" was?
After eating he can no longer contain himself. He comes to sit next to me. I don't think he's used to this kind of affection. I give him some. He wants to take me out to
Peppermill for drinks. He's played his cards right and I sure could use another drink.
"Okay."
He walks me to Valet and we take separate cars there. He self-parked, so he kisses me good-bye, and I have to strain- even in heels- to reach his lips. In the moment, I lose my sense of
proprioception. (Did my leg just go up like when the wife kisses the husband at the end of 50s sitcoms?
Haha, wish I could have seen that!) No wonder he likes tall girls! I sure feel cute, pretty, and petite around him!
The
Peppermill is old-school Vegas. That's not to say it isn't modern, but the front half is like a 50s dinner and the back half is a groovy lounge, with neon everywhere, mirrors for walls, C-shaped
oversized lounges, plasma TVs showing music videos, and featuring pools of water on fire. My kinda place.
We sit down in an out-of-the-way corner and give him what he wants; I sit next to him. He tells me, among other things, that he's looking to take a vacation soon, to Cozumel, and that he wants me to go with him.
"
Ew, Mexico?" I tease.
"I hate Mexico, myself," he counters, "but Cozumel is fantastic. You should come with me!"
All in all, it's been a pretty good night, and I actually find myself, if not attracted to this man, attracted to the way he makes me feel. He wants to take me home. I resist.
"I just want to hold you and watch a movie."
That doesn't sound so bad. I was a bit curious to see his house.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay, get me a shot, and let's go!"
He lives very near the strip, in a neighborhood of what must be multi-million dollar homes. His house, however, is in a
quadplex that looked from the 60s. We go inside and up the wrought-iron staircase. His flat is huge, maybe 2,000 square feet. The foyer is marble floor which extends into the kitchen, and then the floor drops into the sunken lounge and
living room.
All the walls are mirrors.
He's keen to "clean up" so I get comfortable at his piano and play some tunes. After a while, he returns and says the movie's ready. He's really proud of his new TV... 10 year old projection-TV technology, but I lie and say it's really impressive.
The "movie" is the tonight show with Jay Leno! Whatever, I climb up on his bed and watch TV with him. Turned on by Jay he wants to make out. He mentions that he wishes he could put on some jazz, but that the radio is in the other room. This guy is pathetic!
I grab the remote from the table, press a few buttons, and poof! Light jazz on the music channels he didn't know he had. He looks at me.
"Oh yeah, computers and stuff!"
"Yeah, and stuff."
He actually becomes more interested in how I did what I did than me, so I wait for him to figure out what just happened. He gets it back to Leno but doesn't know where to go from there.
"Press 928"
Leno flickers off and once again, light jazz is playing. The only difference is that this time, he did it.
He turns his attention to me, and suddenly I feel like I'm in the lion's den. In hindsight, it's all incredibly obvious, but at the time, there wasn't anything going on that seemed inappropriate.
As he kisses me, his hand moves up my leg. I deflect it up my arm. This pattern continues and thinking back to
highschool and college, when the roles were reversed, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud! Here I am blocking groping hands just as others did to me in my youth.
Shelarious!
I can't control his hands on his body, however and pretty soon, he's
nekkid. Oh my god, that thing is huge! He is a big guy, I reason, and for a moment, I giggle at how he'd look with the penis of a 5'6" man. Anyway, I'm glad I decided early that
that was not going to happen.
I was just wearing a tiny summer dress and thong panties and pretty soon, I find myself without the dress. He's getting really excited now; I need to manage expectations.
"Baby, slow down!"
He ignores me, "I want to be inside you."
Snort. No way that thing's going inside
me! Wait a minute. Inside me? That's something straight boys say.
OH MY GOD, HE DOESN'T KNOW!
Somewhere deep in the far recesses of my mind, far away from the current reality of life, there's a little celebration, but I'm too freaked out to notice.
"Inside me?"
He continues to make out like a straight man and not, in fact like a man who has actually touched another man's penis.
"Baby, baby, baby... there's something about me I thought you knew, but now I'm not sure."
I'm
petrified. Not because I think this is a dangerous, violent man- on the contrary, he's safe and gentle. But still... not a good situation to be in! I hope I don't have to walk back to the
Peppermill!
"Have you ever been with a boy before?"
"No, why?"
Oh dear. He's straight and he thinks I'm a genetic girl. Damn. Guess I'm not going to Cozumel after all.
"How would you feel if I told you I used to be a boy?"
He pauses at this. "I don't know. Did you?"
"Yes."
"When did you become a woman?"
Gulp.
"I'm still transitioning."
More silence. Yup, I'm walking back. To my surprise, he's actually curious!
"You're not a woman?"
"No."
"Can you feel this?" He grabs me close and kisses my breasts.
"
MMmmh," I moan. I let myself enjoy it on the off chance he's okay with everything.
He stops as soon as he figures out the answer to his question.
More silence.
"I'm really sorry, I thought you knew! You said you just wanted to hold me!!" I'm crying now, why not? It really did hurt, and it only made me look more feminine in his eyes.
He repeats my words early at dinner, "What you see is what you get." He chuckles to himself. He's
embarrassed that he didn't know, but seems satisfied to finally answer his earlier question at dinner.
I'm still crying; he thinks he really hurt me, which is true, but also exactly what I want him to think; I don't actually have a lot of options here, and I'm trying to keep him as a friend and not as an angry person, so, I appeal to his good nature and make like I'm
devastated that he's no longer interested in me.
Actually, it wasn't a stretch to act that way.
Later, I would proudly look back at this moment as one of the first times I finally acted like a real woman... getting what I wanted (safely back to my car), but letting the man think he was in charge.
He's not angry, but he's no longer interested. He takes me back to my car and says, "I'll still be your friend." I cry myself home. I cry for the next few hours. I finally get tired of smelling like man, so I take another shower and end up crying myself to sleep.
Morning comes, and I'm fine enough, but I feel totally alone. I did not expect to hurt like that. I did not expect a week to pass before I could bear to write about it.
At least I know what I'll say if ever I call him again. "Doctor, I have a pain in my chest..."